It Never Rhines but It Pours (8 page)

All four heads shook. “Everyone loved Shane and Julie,” the leader girl said. “They were popular. Not just with us, but with everyone. The teachers loved them, they never got in trouble with the Headmaster, nobody had any reason to want them dead.” She started to cry again.

I reached out a hand and tentatively patted her on the shoulder. They all seemed to be telling the truth. As far as they knew, there was no one else who could have killed their friends. You have to admit, it made sense. If your friends are killed in a Satanic ritual, it seems logical to assume that the only Satanic ritualist you know would be responsible. Logical, but incorrect. Pravus was innocent, which created this whole mess in the first place.

“We need to go,” I said. “But if you ever need to talk—” Crap. If they need to talk? I couldn’t give them my phone number or email address. The last thing I wanted was for word to get back to the police that some vigilantes were investigating the murders.

“Thanks,” the leader girl said, apparently not noticing my lack of concrete ways to contact me. “We appreciate it.”

“Okay, then,” I gave a half smile. “We’ll see you around.”

The four teenagers turned back to face the front. We were dismissed. I stood and Cecily and Sarah followed me out of the sanctuary.

The doors shut quietly behind us and we exchanged looks. “Well?” I asked.

“Not good,” was Cecily’s answer.

“Why? Other than the obvious.”

“The obvious being, Pravus didn’t do it but it sure looks like he did?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, that one.”

Cecily sighed, “The evidence makes Pravus guilty.”

“But he is innocent,” I pointed out.

She sighed again. “It doesn’t make sense. He had means, motive, and opportunity.” She ticked them off on her fingers, “He is a witch so he knows how to work a death ritual - means. He would gain a lot of power from a death ritual, especially if the victims were are pure as their friends believe them to be - motive. He was a guest speaker here and both victims had expressed interest in his beliefs outside of class - opportunity.”

I shook my head, “But we
know
that he didn’t do it. So that means that he was framed. Either the two kids were the prime target and Pravus was a convenient scape-goat, or—”

Sarah finished my thought, “Or Pravus is the target and we need to be looking at people who want
him
dead!”

Chapter Eight:

Dead End

Back at the hotel that night, I tried to think. It had all started out so simple! Why had I had such a big problem with executing someone? Right now I would be happy to wield the sword myself, anything to finish this craziness! Pravus was innocent, of that much I was sure. So, where to go from there? What did it mean?

All the evidence pointed to Pravus. The police believed him to be the killer. The Synod believed him to be the killer. By not executing him, we had created a problem. Either the Synod would kill
us
for failing to follow orders, or we had to find the real killer and execute him. Just peachy. Only problem was Point One again: all the evidence pointed to Pravus. Therefore (my brain was starting to hurt at this point) the real killer had no interest in the students other than that they were a convenient way to frame Pravus. We could stop interviewing people who had anything to do with the murders and focus solely on Pravus. Who hated him? Who wanted him dead?

Someone knocked on the door while my brain was contorting itself in mental gymnastics. I checked the peephole to make sure it was Sarah and Cecily before I opened it. They had gone out for pizza and drinks. None of us had felt like eating out in a restaurant. Conversations about decapitated victims and satanic rituals tend to earn you suspicious looks from your waitress.

Food was quickly dispensed and I noticed Cecily quietly bowing her head over her plate before beginning to eat. Curiouser and curiouser! I wanted to ask her more questions about this whole “soul” thing, but now was not the time. I decided to share my musings.

Cecily and Sarah munched pizza and listened while I explained my reasoning. “So,” I wrapped it up, “We need to find out who has a grudge against Pravus. We find out who hates him the most and we’ve found our killer.” It sounded so easy when I said it that way. Ha.

“Okay,” Sarah agreed. “Makes sense to me. How do we do that?”

Drat. It sounded so hard when you said it that way.

“We’ll have to go talk to Pravus tomorrow,” Cecily said. “He must have some clue as to why he was framed. He can’t be entirely as stupid as he looks.”

I choked on a sip of diet coke. “I certainly hope not,” I added with a laugh. Cecily and I broke into a laugh at our wittiness. Sarah rolled her eyes and reached for a fourth piece of pizza.

Where was she putting the food? Granted, I was ten years older, but really! Even at sixteen I would have been plump had I eaten the way she did. Must be her metabolism. Some people seem to be able to eat whatever they want and not gain an ounce. Me, I felt fatter just
looking
at the pizza. I’d had one piece and it was killing me not to reach back in the box for another one.
No
, I told myself.
You do not need the calories!

Why couldn’t I have been born with a quick metabolism? Come to think of it, my older sister, Karen, liked to eat ice-cream for breakfast. And my brother Jacob ate enough for an army. Why was I the only one in the family to inherit a sluggish metabolism? It wasn’t fair. I had to get the crappy metabolism
and
the crazy ability. I pouted a bit.

“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked. She was, not that I was counting, on her third piece of pizza. Vampires don’t get nutritional benefit from eating, but they enjoy the process. It was supremely unfair. Cecily would stay slim and trim without watching her caloric intake or joining a gym. Of course, she was
dead
. But every silver lining must have its cloud!

I had a random thought. “If I turn immortal, will I stay just the way I was when I changed?”

“Huh?” she was confused.

“If I turn immortal, does my body stay the same and never change?”

“You won’t age,” was the answer.

“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “I get that. The word ‘immortal’ kind of gave that one away. What I mean is, do immortals gain weight?”

Sarah laughed, the little punk. “You are so obsessed with your weight, Piper!” This from the girl with the long legs, flat abs, and perky boobs. I remember when mine were perky. Breastfeeding sort of “takes it out of them” if you know what I mean.

I sat up straight in offended dignity. “I am
not
obsessed with my weight. I was just wondering. Hypothetically.”

Cecily hid a smile behind her hand. “I don’t know,” she said. “When I turned I became better than I had been before. Stronger, faster, thinner, even prettier. I don’t know how it would work for you.”

I sighed. So much for that hope. Not that I wanted to be immortal. It would just be nice for something in my life to have a positive side.

“You have to remember,” Cecily continued. “You both are the first of your kind that we have met. It is unknown how your bodies would react to immortality.”

“Could they be wrong about the whole immortality thing?” I asked hopefully.

“Unlikely,” was the crushing response.

“You’d be fine with turning immortal if it meant you could eat whatever you wanted!” Sarah teased.

I gave her my death stare. “Just you wait. For all you know we’ll gain fifty pounds and grow warts when we turn immortal. How would you like that?”

Sarah laughed the laugh of youth, unconcerned and invulnerable. Had I ever been like that? Probably. I just didn’t feel like that anymore.

I pulled the conversation back on track. “So, the plan for tomorrow …”

“We have to go talk to Pravus again,” Sarah said.

“Then we go home,” I added. I missed my kids. It’s not that I didn’t trust Mark to take good care of them. It’s just that I knew no one could do as good a job as me. They had to be missing me by now.

Sarah was playing with her silver bracelet. “What happens if we can’t find the killer,” she asked Cecily.

Cecily looked serious. “The Synod will set a hit on us. We may have some time until that happens. At the most, I would guess we have three days to find the real killer before …” She didn’t finish but we all knew what came next.

I knew that she had really put her life on the line by trusting me. If she had done what she wanted to do, Pravus would be dead and all this would be over. Instead, she had listened to me. Bad enough that I was risking my own life; I was potentially taking my sister and my best friend down with me.

Looking back though, I don’t know how I could have done any different. I couldn’t kill an innocent person just to save my own life. That wasn’t right. I would never be able to live with myself. I would just have to hope that we found the killer before the Synod found out that we hadn’t fulfilled our hit.

We wound up watching stupid reality-TV shows into the wee hours of the morning. What is it about normal people making colossal idiots of themselves that is so entertaining to watch? Could people
really
be this stupid? And if they were, did we deserve to continue as a species? I wanted to slap all the drama queens and send them to their rooms. Maybe that was what was missing from their lives, a strong mother figure to tell them to stop being such a baby and suck it up.

Sarah and I shared one of the queen beds which was a little weird for me. I’m used to sharing a bed with Mark, where it’s okay if you snuggle in the middle of the night. Waking up to find Sarah’s elbow in my face and her knee in my spine was not quite so nice. That and she snores. I was exhausted, but what with the elbowing and kneeing and snoring I didn’t catch much sleep.

The few times I looked over at Cecily’s bed, I noticed that she wasn’t sleeping either. Oh, duh. The vampire thing. She was probably used to sleeping during the day and being awake at night. Our current schedule had to be killing her. Oh wait. She was already dead. I stifled a snigger and finally drifted off to sleep.

The next morning we were all grouchy and tired. Three women, one bathroom, need I say more? By the time we were packed up and ready to go I was ready to shiv someone. Maybe Sarah, for hogging the bathroom for forty-five minutes when I had to pee, but probably Cecily, for suggesting that we skip the hotel’s continental breakfast and go get donuts or pancakes.

“Pancakes!” I shrieked.

“Yeah, you know, the round bready things you put syrup on,” Sarah chimed in.

“I know what they are,” I snarled. “Do you have any idea how many calories are in
pancakes
?” My voice was reaching its upper register.

Cecily rubbed a tired hand over red-rimmed eyes. “Never mind, I need to get some food,” she said.

I stopped. She sounded awful. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Where do you want to go?”

She looked embarrassed. “Umm. You guys go get some breakfast and I’ll meet up with you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where are you going?”

She played with the fabric of her skirt. “I told you,” she didn’t explain, “I need some food.”

“Oh my goodness!” I breathed. “You’re going to
feed
off someone!”

She glared at me. “No. I’m not,” she said shortly.

“Then where are you going?” Sarah wanted to know.

Cecily stopped looking embarrassed and started looking exasperated. “Do you really need to know?”

Sarah and I looked at each other. “Yes,” we both said.

Cecily rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go visit a vampire contact in the city and get some blood.” As our eyes widened in horror, she added, “from a
blood bank
. Good grief you two. I’m not Dracula.”

“But you are, kind of,” Sarah said. “I mean, for us, you’re the closest thing to Dracula I’ve ever met.”

“But I don’t kill people,” Cecily sighed

“I know.” It was my turn to feel embarrassed. “I’m sorry. We’re just all out of sorts this morning.” We quickly agreed on a meeting place and Cecily did her disappearing act while Sarah and I drove down the road to an IHOP.

Breakfast was torture. I adore pancakes. And waffles. And donuts. And bacon. And all those other fatty, high calorie breakfast foods that are so delicious. Sarah got giant, blueberry pancakes, with peanut butter and syrup, a side of bacon, hash browns, scrambled eggs and toast. I had oatmeal.

I nursed my coffee and thought murderous thoughts. Sarah was digging in like a plow hand. If she made another “mmmmm” sound I was going to stab her with my fork. As it was, my oatmeal was probably loaded with quadruple the number of calories that my high-fiber, instant oatmeal had at home. I felt my butt growing larger as I thought about it.

How in the world did my sister do it? She must have hollow legs. She also looked fresh and alert, like she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. Humph. Apparently she hadn’t had someone poking her in the back every time she turned over. Or snoring in her ear. She’d had time to apply heavy eye make-up, and her silver earrings matched the bracelet on her wrist.

“I like your bracelet,” I said, to make conversation. What I really meant was “You’re overeating is making me sick with jealousy.”